I am in the Mission, a place to find your mission, a place of mission-finders, an army of hipster mission-finders drinking coffee or tea in sexy scarves and sneakers with colorfull stripes. Yeah.

I’m on Guerrero Street which isn’t about a war, despite how a quick-reading of the word might insinuate such a thing. No, this place I find myself in is the cafe of Petra. Petra isn’t here I don’t think, but she earned the naming of the establishment and wherever she is, I think she deserved it, and I’d like to honor her now silently.

I am surrounded by bodies, some flirting, some alone, some phone-talking and most computer-typing. I like it here, it’s hot to the skin and con calma.

After I say this, you may think I’ve been avoiding it so I want to say right now that I’m doing nothing of the sort. As of two days ago my contract was terminated with NCI. Suddenly how things are different. Money in the bank, nothing but dreams to have and create. And the big question rings within me like a bell at St. Peter’s, "what do I want?"